Amazing
by DeliciousMalicious71511
Summary: Average teen Peter Parker (named after the Comic-Book legend himself) has always lived a normal life. Despite being neglected by his parents, he's always been content...until the incident that changed everything. He discovers that he has superpowers, and must use them to defeat a rising threat in his small town. Will he crack under pressure, or will he hold up to his name's legacy?


My parents were always very… enthusiastic about their comic books. I'm sure they've attended nearly every Comic-Con that's ever been held. Let's face it; they have a dog named Thor and a son named Peter Kent Parker. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Peter Parker, and I'm about to tell you how my life became… amazing.

September 1st, my first day of junior year. I've never been a fan of school, but then again, who is? Actually, I'll tell you who is: Bridgette Scott, the smartest, wittiest, most annoying girl at Cypress Creek High School. She never has a nice thing to say about anybody and, quite frankly, nobody ever has a nice thing to say about her. Whether it be about her obnoxiously curled hair, her thick glasses, her know-it-all attitude, or even the fact that she's never seen without a textbook in her hand, people always are saying something about her. She doesn't even seem to care. I see her across the room, glaring at me with a sneer that could curdle fresh milk. I really don't understand why she has such a problem with me, personally. I guess she has a problem with everybody.

Not wanting to be rude, I approach her and offer her a smile. "Morning, Bridgette. Did'ja have a nice summer?"

She looks at me, clearly disgusted at the prospect of even speaking to me. "Well, if you must know, my father and I took an Alaskan cruise to study the cultural differences of those in other parts of America," she replies with an indignant huff.

"That's great, Bridge, glad you had fun." I snigger under my breath, turning away to hide my amused expression. Upon turning around, I notice the hugest, huskiest, most massive senior ever to attend Cypress Creek approaching me. I grin. It's none other than Fatty Reed, my best mate. Now, Fatty is nicknamed Fatty for a reason. He's 6'2", 260 pounds, and is the star middleback of the Cy Creek Cougars' football team.

"Petey! My man, what's up?" he grins. He thumps me on the back, and the unintentional force of the blow nearly knocks me over. I laugh and brush myself off.

"Uh, well the ceiling is up. These fluorescent lights are killing me already," I tease. He shoves me again, causing me to collide into the wall of lockers. "Okay, okay, geez," I say, shifting my books back into a comfortable grasp and starting down the hallway.

"Well, if you must know, I stayed in my room playing video games all summer long. My parents gave me the house for a month while they flew to the San Diego Comic-Con," I sigh. He places a beefy hand on my shoulder in what seems to be a show of sympathy. Fatty knows just as well as I do that my parents are never really around much due to their jobs and comic book obsessions. Sometimes, I feel as if they've forgotten that they have a son.

"You had the whole house to yourself for a month and you didn't even invite me over? Some friend you are!" he shouts, a playful grin toying at the corner of his lips. I just laugh, unsure of how to respond. He's right; I could have easily had him over without my parents suspecting a thing. It's not like they'd care anyways. Silly me.

We tell about the rest of our uneventful summers, share a few more laughs, and part our separate ways to homeroom. I sigh, elbowing open the classroom door. The scene is a teacher's nightmare. Papers fluttering aimlessly around the room, footballs being tossed from one side of the classroom to the other, assorted groups of giggling, texting girls. In short, it was utter chaos. What's worse, Mr. Paulmari, the homeroom monitor, is not-so-discreetly checking the football scores from the game last night on his cellphone. He doesn't seem to notice (or care about) the obscene happenings in his classroom.

A wayward football goes completely unnoticed until it hits me square in the face. "Perfect," I mutter as a smirking Jeremy Fisher comes to retrieve it. Jeremy is a tall boy with a strong athletic build. He's the type of guy you would presume plays every sport that's ever existed and be awarded with "Best Player To Ever Play This Sport... Ever" Award. But with his talent comes arrogance, causing him to be the Cy Creek bully.

"Whoops, sorry, Web-Boy," he sneers sarcastically, snatching the football out of my hands. He pivots around sharply, making a perfect pass into the arms of a boy I don't recognize. The footballers cheer as Jeremy struts back to the other end of the room. I find my seat and automatically bury my nose in the first book I can find. This is going to be a long day, I can tell.

**Later That Day**

I arrive home, shrugging off my backpack. It falls to the floor with a satisfying thump. Thor barks loudly from his crate.

"Mom," I call, "Dad, I'm home." I hear assorted mumbling from the kitchen. They heard me. I take an experimental step into the room. "Hello?"

The first thing I notice is the sea of paperwork strewn in front of my father. He scrawls something down, shifting robotically from one file to the next. He can write faster than anybody I know; it's almost unnatural. He uses his free hand to reposition his horn-rimmed glasses into place, not taking any notice of me. You see, my parents are scientific inventors. No time for anything, really.

I turn to my mother, who is writing down a complex-looking equation on her whiteboard. She scowls, erasing it furiously and starts all over. She turns away from her work momentarily and looks at me. "Peter, where were you?" she asks, raising a questioning eyebrow. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"School. Today was my first day," I reply flatly.

"Oh. Did you have a nice day?" she asks, turning back to her equation and away from me.

"To tell you the truth, I didn't. I'm already being called things like 'Spider-Man' and 'Web-Boy'. Remember that boy, Jeremy Fisher? The one who gave me all the trouble last year? Well, he—' but she had stopped listening. Or caring. Or both. I leave the room unnoticed. My parents have top priorities. I am not one of them.


End file.
